Daughter of Riddles
by yaoidarkness16
Summary: Adopted by the Weaselys as a baby, Ariana never feels like she's belonged for the simple fact that she's a brunette in a sea of gingers. Also, she's fantastic at manipulation, not sporty, and can communicate with snakes (not that she would tell anyone). How will she react when she finds out she's Voldemort's daughter? Will things during the course of the series change? Of course!
1. Pilot

**Author's Note:**

**_|Disclaimer|_**

**I don't own the Harry Potter franchise. They are all owned by J.K. Rowling, Bloomsbury Publishing, Warner's Brothers, and David Heyman. Please be sure to favorite, follow, review, and enjoy this fanfic.**

**_|Important Details|_**

**I thought this would be interesting: a story where the Weasley's adopt a little girl from her birth and they have no idea who her parents are. It shall be interesting for all of you to read about her reactions and which side she will end up on.**

**I wish and hope for Ariana to be captivating, flawed, and a character that you feel for. A lot of things are going to go down with this girl and not all of them are going to be jim dandy. That means lots of character development and potential character death. Things will develop in different ways hopefully in interesting ways.**

**|Story: Daughter of Riddles|**

**|Chapter One: Pilot|**

Fire glittered around the building showing off its impressive colors of vermillion and canary yellow. Beams, staircases, roofing, and furniture began to be consumed by the flames. It slowly licked up the oxygen inside the building emitting smoke and carbon dioxide. Not a soul could breath in it without difficulty doing so, unfortunately two souls of only a few months old and an eight year old were trapped there...

There was a team of wizard rescuers there to go and safe the infant or any other soul trapped in there and also put out the flames. There the Weasley's were with Percy being four years old and clutching tightly to his mother, the twins two years of age and watching in fascination, Bill who was ten stuck close to his Dad, and the Mr. and Mrs. were worried beyond believe because their son Charlie who was eight was in the fire, trapped.

Out came one of the wizards with a shaking and scared eight year old Charlie in his grasp, the Weasley parents rushed over to grab their son in their loving arms. Mrs. Weasley didn't dare let go of her crying son as the rest of their many boys ran over to their parents clueless as to what's going on.

"Thank you! Thank you!" Mrs. Weasley cried out hugging her child tighter.

The wizard was uncomfortable as held up an object in a small blanket. He looked as if he was trying to get something out without coming off as imposing. It was very difficult for the man who wasn't that familiar with the Weasleys.

"What's wrong, Zokan?" Mr. Weasley asked using his surname for the simple face that was mentioned above.

Mr. Zokan held the blanket with the item in it in front of him to open. Mr. Weasley hesitantly opened the blanket and revealed a sleeping infant to the dark sky and for all to see. The infant fell asleep when Mr. Zokan went looking for her mother and father and they were nowhere to be found.

"It seems that this child is indeed proved herself as a witch, magic saved her life and kept her from dying in that fire," the man explained. "However, I couldn't find her parents, I don't even know who her parents are…."

Mr. Weasley looked very hesitant, but Mrs. Weasley over heard their conversation and knew that she was a baby girl by Mr. Zokan's word choice. She had always wanted a daughter seeing as she's tried five times for a girl and ended up with six boys instead, they didn't even end up with one girl out of all Mr. and Mrs. Weasley tries. It was rather sad and she supposed adoption was the way to go.

"Oh Arthur!" Mrs. Weasley exclaimed taking a look at the little girl. "Isn't she precious? Let's keep her, please!"

Mr. Weasley was quite hesitant yet again as he looked back and forth between his sons and the little girl wrapped in a blanket in front of them. He knew his wife wanted nothing more than a little girl to pamper and love. Mr. Weasley finally relinquished and said yes since the man has always had a warm heart.

Adopted as Ariana Weasley she was born as Amara Riddle with quite a story ahead of her. And this, my darling children, is how our fantastic tale begins.

* * *

**•~xXx~•**

* * *

**_•Eleven Years Later•_**

The sky is a beautiful array of colors ranging between red and yellow since the sun is setting. The grassy plains are so serene swaying and blowing in the gentle breeze. The chickens are playing with other chickens and crowing as they were embedded in their coops. Everything is so peaceful that people would simply love to be out here even for a few minutes in their short lives.

_BOOM!_

Fireworks and many more blasting items fly high into the sky causing everyone within a ten mile radius to hear the tell tale stream of booms. Of course, I'm running for my life from my older brothers who are absolutely livid. I ruined their little prank for our pretentious older brother, Percy.

"ARI!" Fred and George roar over the loud and continuous booms.

All it does is make me run even faster, like it's possible to. I run like the wild wind which makes my lungs burn, my tiny little girl legs feel as if they're on fire, and panic rise in my blood stream.

One might ask why I did it in the first place. That's a good a question; I did it simply for revenge. Fred nicked my favorite miniature ceramic seahorse statue in order to break into the shack near our house in order to acquire their fireworks. But only to realize that they destroyed my possession for nothing since the fireworks weren't even in the shack! I wasn't going to let that fly and I didn't, so in retaliation I ruined their prank and something they adore.

Eventually I find a decent hiding space for myself: the shack I comes across. With laboring breathes I knock into the door fiercely since all of the inertia causes me to go right through the doors rather noisily. I quickly shut them and looks around to find a hiding spot... any kind of hiding spot.

There is none! Oh no!

I climb up the supporting beams using all of my strength in these tiny muscles on my lean and childish body. When I roll on top of the big plank above I try to calm my breathing and put a hand over my lips as the twin boys enter the shack. Even though the continuous booms and explosions are going off I still feel the paranoia of being caught edging on my sanity.

Fred and George look around the area desperately to try and find me their younger sister. Well, try to catch me boys I'm the elusive Ariana Weasley. I've always been great with escaping and worming my way out of difficult situations, like this one per say.

"Where did she go?" Fred demands whilst searching on the ground.

The two finally come across an area which they feel might be where I am. It's a little burrow dug out big enough for a tiny person like me to fit through, wrong that's _way_ too obvious. So, that's how the twin pranksters come to the conclusion that they need to check outside again. How do I know all of this? Well, the place I'm currently residing in is a perfect view to spy on them.

"She's outside! Let's get her!" Fred says.

I hear a soft slam of the wooden shack and I let out a much needed sigh. The sheer waves of relief rolling and crashing through me is tremendous. I may be brave and ready to take on tough challenges ahead of me, but I do not consider myself stupid. I'm not going to face the wrath of Fred and George when I'm the cause of one of their pranks going array. I know I have at least one thing in common with my brothers, I play for keeps and no bad deed goes unpunished.

"Now, how am I going to get down from here?" I sigh and kind of whine.

I try the practical approach; grabbing the support beam I use it to get up there in the first place and trying to shimmy down there. But, the continuous booms of the fireworks causes the entire shack to shake especially the support beams. Oh... oh... crap!

"Whoa… whoa… AHHHHHHHH!" I scream to the top of my lungs.

In the next second I begin to fall. I try to grasp onto the beam for dear life, but Lady Luck is not on my side today and I'm falling now. It's not one of those graceful slow motion falls, no, its fast and I'm scared for my life. The loud shrill scream is discovered by the twins who are hiding and made it seem like they left to draw me out; those jerks. However, Fred and George didn't expect me to fall from the rafter up there to my doom. A little help here please, I know I nicked your fireworks, but is it really worth letting me, you know, die!?

My tiny body drops plummeting like a hard rock until I crash to the ground at a very sudden stop. I'm panting softly and refuse to move a muscles; for some reason I didn't feel a _damn_ thing. When I fell I was hoping to any kind of god out there that I wouldn't die and in my imagination I envisioned enveloping my body in something to cushion the fall. Did it work? I don't want to jinx it.

I breathe heavily as my brothers emerge in panic; good, they don't hate me after all. I can tell they're worried because they keep screaming my name and asking if I'm okay. However, I can't find my voice... its like it's hidden.

"Ari!"

"Ari, are you okay?!"

"ARIANA!"

This is when I muster up the strength to stand on shaky feet looking a little dazed. I've done some insane things, but nothing that insane before in my short eleven years. The boys, of course, are surprised beyond belief that I'm able to move at all much less stand. I am too.

"I'm fine," I say softly. "… I feel fine."

They don't believe me and I can tell by the looks on their faces, but when our mother comes in that's when I worry them all. I begin to fake it, lean on George for support and gives out convincing high pitch wails. I swear, I should have been an actor...

Ever since I can remember I have been able to manipulate and steer my Mum or Dad in the direction I want in order to avoid trouble. I do it with such skill that my twin trouble making brothers often ventures for my secret. Truth is, I don't have one; it's all talent or skill or whatever.

Me and my twin brothers are getting the lecture of our lives as I continue to pretend I'm in agony to evade punishment. I'm awesome like this. I can tell Fred and George are studying the area and their darling sister, moi, is wondering how to make an escape or stop the lecture all together. I don't like yelling.

"Do you have any idea what kind of danger you put your little sister in?! Huh, do you both just only care about your pranks so much you would injure a family member?! Are you that conceided?! You got her injured! And Ariana... what were doing up there in the first place?! …" Mum continues on with her rant annoyingly.

My plump Mum is red in the face as she's screaming at the top of her lungs. She isn't paying attention seeing as she couldn't see properly, so Fred and George have their hands clapped together in unison praying for their manipulative and clever sister (me) to get them out of the lecture and soon to be punishment.

I shake my head. They nod their head. I shake my head again and give them a furtive look. They're practically on their knees begging for me to comply with them. I bite the bottom of my lip and reluctantly nod and Fred and George have such large smiles of elation. They _owe_ me for this one and I _will_ collect. You can sure about that.

I wail; high pitched mewls of pain erupts from my lips and our mother looks at me like she has taken a broom ride with Harry Potter himself to the moon and back. The woman knows her little girl doesn't wail and carry on like that unless she's in _serious_ pain. Of course, I use that to my advantage.

"Ari-Ariana," she says softly still taken aback.

"I… just… it hurts so much," I say so softly still crying.

That's the cue for the boys to run like the wind through the front door not that far away. They couldn't be silent due to the fact that they have to be quick. Ooh, Mum is livid with a scream of their names. The plump woman chases after the boys out of the house leaving little ol' me all by herself.

"Fred! George!" The woman exclaims.

Eventually I'm in my bed and I am bored and I don't know what to do now. I always need to be entertained and that's why I'm backwards on my bed staring at my ceiling with my bare feet up against the wall. I'm counting the little individual plasters on my ceiling since I'm so bored. Ugh, one thousand and eight... one thousand and nine... crap I lost count!

My roommate and twin brother, Ron, has his narrowed gaze directed right at me. Ooh, uncomfortable... Ronnie Ron is being creepy. I suppose he's always had these weird anger thing toward me, but still... it makes me a little sad.

"You know, Ronnie Ron," I say in my usual airy and little girl voice. "if you keep staring at me like that someone will think you're in love with me."

Ron shakes his head and flushes before saying, "Oh shut it, Ariana."

Then that's when I turn around on my back and face my favorite brother and the one that never leaves my side since we fit the same age bracket we're never split up. I wish to know what's wrong with him, so I can figure out how to fix it and we can be the besties ever.

"Aww, what's got your wand in a knot? Come on, tell your twin sis all your troubles. I promise I'll listen," I say in the most playful tone.

He grumbles and turns over on his bed trying to ignore me. Of course, I'm not going to take that especially from someone I consider close to me. So, of course, I, who seems to know no boundaries, hop off my bed and leap right on top of the space beside my twin.

"Bloody hell, Ariana!" He exclaims in surprise.

He-he, I scared him. I begin to rub his forearm lightly trying to calm him down as I giggle contently. "Oh calm down, I'm just having a little fun. Now, tell all about your problems; I promise I won't laugh."

After a short pause he confesses, "Why are you the one who gets away with everything?! You don't even try... it's like a.. like a gift! How do you even do it?"

I'm trying very hard not to laugh in his face, I promised after all and I want him to come to me with his problems if something like this happens again. This is _all_ of what Ron is upset about? This is it? Nothing more than the simple fact that I understand this is the basis of human weaknesses, behaviors and ways exploits them to my advantage? Wow, I don't know what to say to this obvious jealousy.

"Ah, you promised," he says putting a finger at my face since the expression I'm wearing gives away that I'm one second away from laughing until my stomach aches.

I never have liked it when somebody stuck any sort of object in my face whether it be a human finger or a wand, I don't care. That's why I make a big scale bite at his skinny little digit, which of course makes Ronnie Ron pull back quickly to get away from the moist cavern with lines that have various types of teeth.

"You were going to bite me!" He says looking offended.

"I've always told you Ronnie Ron," I smile with a chipper air to it. "never stick your finger or anything else in my face. For one thing it's rude. Now, don't be such a jealous fuddy-duddy; you're awesome in your own right."

"Don't patronize me," he says turning over on his side.

I pout lightly before I tackle him and initiate quite the intense tickle fight. With lots of laughs and jabs eventually I come out on top and as the victor. Ronnie Ron is upside down, face down having difficulty breathing, and rather humiliated. I on the other hand sit cross legged, arms are crossed too, and a playful smile graces my pouty lips. I love winning.

"Ugh..., get off Ariana I can't breathe!" Ronny Ron cries out.

"Now, that I have your full attention." She says. "Ronnie Ron, since you are feeling so left out I'll let you come with me to meet Fred and George to do something... we're not supposed to do at night."

"REALLY?!" Ron exclaims knocking me right off of him and onto the floor.

"Ahh! Ugh..." I say in pain before composing myself. "Yes, they're expecting me. You'll have to go out by the window and to the shack... I'll catch up with you in a few minutes."

He thanks me, picks me up, and spins me around a bit for a moment before going out of the window. A large cute smile is still on my lips, waving with my tiny hands, and my eyes are closed when my brother is still on the window sill. It then turns into a bitter sweet expression and my eyes are a bit saddened. I don't like people seeing me this way. That's why I hide it.

I then turn to face my mirror with still sad eyes. I sure do have such dark and big eyes since I'm still a little girl and my face hasn't grown completely in. I also have dark brunette hair in very curly Q's that are naturally that way. I wouldn't ever style my hair this way... too much work. I have pale and fair skin with an oval face shape, light pink and pouty lips, decent cheekbones, dark round eyes and a normal sized forehead. I dress plainly mostly due to my families lack of wealth, but at this age I can't be bothered with high fashion clothes. Plus, it's just a waste of money anyway.

I, Ariana Weasley, am a fairly average looking girl and I know that. I'm not beautiful nor am I ugly.

"Humph," I scoff with my dark eyes still seemingly lifeless. "They think I'm just their dumb little sister…. Boy, are they wrong."

**Author's Note: Thoughts, comments, or concerns? Curious about Ariana's development? Do you want Ginny to be in this story or should she not be? Personally I can go either way even though I can't stand her character. So, Should I continue?**


	2. Bonds Forming

**|Chapter Two— Bonds Forming|**

I'm in my happiest place… my dreams. I'm in a warm beacon of white fluffy clouds, there's little baby cupids playing their harps, and somebody is massaging my tense muscles. Then it all begins to crack as a shrill voice from the outside world causes it. Whaaa, I'm starting to feel sad.

"Ariana! Time to wake up!" Ronny Ron says.

"_Noooo_," I whine softly as my words are muffled by my fluffy and very comfy pillow.

I make muffled noises of discontent as my noodle arms just drop like a broken limb when he finally releases my arm from his vice grip. Ronny Ron scoffs as I try to go back and fix my cracking happy place. He's now poking me in my sides, some try to kick him.

"Come on, Ari! You were supposed to be up half an hour ago!" He grunts as I grip the headboard as if I didn't then I would die.

After a few more tugs on my ankles he gives up. I smile slightly as I try and fall back asleep in my comfy bed. Score one for Ariana while Ronny Ron still has yet to score. He he.

"I'm going to open the blinds," he says in a smug tone.

"No… no," I mumble. Then he yanks them open and I scream loudly. "AHHHH!"

The harsh light of day causes the scream to erupt from my throat and me to fall off of my bed too. Ronny Ron laughs at me as it feels like my retinas are burning. Ugh, this is not cool.

I get up and groan in annoyance as my twinsie is still laughing at me whole heartedly. I thump him lightly before I bend down to pick up my trunk that's already packed. I, unlike most of my family, pack ahead of time because I get so anxious if I don't. It's a nightmare.

"Ow! Sore sport!" Ronny Ron says.

He then thumps me in the back of my neck and even though my hair covers my neck it still hurts. Like a lot.

"Ow, you meany!" I exclaim.

Then, of course, it starts into a semi-slap fight. I say semi because his hits aren't really that painful… until my hand accidentally smacked him in the face. Uh-oh, that's when we ended up on the ground and Ronny Ron is sitting on top of me with my face on the ground. It escalates quickly. Obviously.

"Mhmmnn, I can't breathe," I squeak.

"Ron!" Mum exclaims.

Yea, mommy to the rescue. I feel a weight lift off of me and I roll on my back before standing up. Her dark red brows are still narrowed as she yanks him out of the room by his ear.

I hear the distant screaming from my Mum down the hall, so I close the door softly behind them. Nope, no one needs to hear that, that's just between them and plus it's awkward to listen to that.

I then look down at my trunk and I begin to toss a bunch of articles of clothing I forgot (totally too lazy to do it). I don't bother to fold it up since ain't nobody got time for that. Then I begin to have a lot of trouble with closing my trunk… stupid and stubborn thing.

At first I'm banging on it like a crazy person, then I try to smash down with one of the heavy objects in my room like my lamp, and none of it worked. I'm about to give up…, but then a crazy and brilliant idea comes to my mind.

"Nyagh!" I grunt at the effort as I climb my large canopy twin sized frame that's like a box above my bed.

I scramble up there and it's somewhat difficult. Though, it's not like I don't have muscles… on my rather scrawny limbs. At least I get to carry practically nothing up there.

"Don't be scared, Weasley," I say to myself feeling a little nervous. "It's just a a couple feet worth a drop down onto a stupid and stubborn trunk that's hard and solid."

Psh, it's nothing compared to the other day when I fell over thirty and magic cushioned my blow. Then without a drop of hesitation I jump down on the trunk with a soft scream, I hear the trunk click, and as I'm flying backwards I wave to my twin brother and my Mum who are looking at me with absolute horror.

_BOOM!_

My back smacks against the wall behind me before I fall face first down on my bed. I make a very soft and pitiful noise that's muffled by my sheets. Say what you must, but that was as equally as fun as it was painful.

"ARIANA!" Mum shrieks in anger and worry.

* * *

**|•xXx•|**

* * *

We're at King's Cross and my back feels really sore… like I slept on it funny. I guess that wasn't the best way to approach the issue, but hey my trunk is now firmly shut… with a converse skid mark on it. Yeah…. That's not my brightest plan, but I got what I needed to do done. So, if you judge me I'm gonna stick my tongue out at you!

I realize it's me and Ronny Ron's time to go, so I turn around and make it look it look I'm doing a backwards dive with my tongue sticking out at my twin brother. He just huffs and pushes my trolley along with his.

Then my hands come in contact with the cool surface of the cement. Ha, my body probably look like a bridge. That's when I kick off and flip into a correct position to face my brother. That's when I hear Fred and George laugh. My face quirks up a little….

"What's so funny?"

"Haven't you done enough stunts today?" Fred teases with his face appearing on my left side.

"Yeah, does this familiar?" George says coming up on my left side. Then he begins to whine and fake sob dramatically. "Ow, my back! Oh it hurts!"

Fred begins to join in on the fun of making fun of me and my manipulative ways. My lips purse in annoyance and I shove the both of them. I then cross my arms and pout at them with my brows creased.

"Shut up you jerks," I say softly. "Remember, I pulled your butts out of the fire!"

"Aw, that's so cute! She's mad, isn't it adorable Fred?" George continues to tease me by pinching my cheeks.

"Oh absolutely Georgie!"

I can feel my cheeks heating up in anger and embarrassment. This isn't funny! It's embarrassing and incredibly annoying. This just like the time where we tend to clash and have 'wars'. They tell me I can't fly on the brooms because I'm a girl and boys only, so I steal the brooms after they go in for the night and fly freely like a bird in the night air. They tell me that pranks are for boys only and girls aren't allowed, so in retaliation I thwart them or tip off Percy… anonymously… sort of.

Then that's when I see my Mum entering Platform Nine and Three-Quarters from my peripherals. A devious plan comes to mind….

"Ow! Ow! Ow! Fred and George stop it! Ow, Mum! Help!" I shriek as I begin to punch my own hand to make the sound of blows.

They look stark frightened and I can hear Ronny-Ron laughing off to the side. They say things under their breath like 'cut it out', 'stop it', and 'Ari, knock it off'. But, I continue to do it anyway, it's pay back for treating me like that after I saved them from lots and lots of trouble.

"FRED! GEORGE!" We all hear the tell tale roar.

That's when she steps past me rounding on my twin older brothers. I quickly grab my trolley and start to head off with Ronny Ron in tow. We get to the train entrance and I can't help laughing at how I get away with things so easily.

"Ariana, you're crazy," Ron chuckles.

"I know…, but now my hand kinda hurts," I whine slightly as I struggle a little to get my trunk up on the train.

He continues to snicker at me as we look around for an empty compartment. I'm not feeling very lucky and I'm not lucky beyond my intuition. All the compartments are full and we can't sit with them….

"Oi, can me and my brother sit with you? Everywhere else is full," I say sweetly with a small smile and with my eyes closed.

I hope being polite, sweet, and cute enough for this kid that's probably me and Ronny Ron's age. Cool. We may be in the same year.

"Sure."

We places our trunks in the overhead storage area before we sit down across from the stranger. There's a brief and awkward pause between us all.

I clear my throat. "My name's Ariana Weasley."

"Ron Weasley," he answers. "We're twins."

"I'm Harry Potter," he says with a small smile.

My eyes widen and Ron gasps. H-Harry Potter? A famous kid in my presence? That's a little overwhelming. I've never been around a famous person before and as far as I know neither has Ronny-Ron.

"That's cool…," I sigh and I'm ashamed to say that I hear a small tremor in my voice.

"Are you kidding me?! It's more than cool!" Ronny-Ron exclaims startling me and most likely Harry. "It's bloody amazing!"

I can tell the air just got weird. Harry's uncomfortable and I'm uncomfortable, but my brother is still grinning like he won a giant chocolate pound cake. I smile uncomfortable at Harry as I can feel the nervousness slowly disappearing.

"Can I, you know, see your scar?" Ronny Ron asks.

I have to admit I kind of want to see it too. My brown eyes look up as Harry reveals his fleshy head wound to us. I feel this reaction…, feedback…, and pain in my eyes. I look away and wince painfully. Why do I feel this burning there?

"Ari…, are you okay?" Ronny-Ron asks me.

"Fine…. It's nothing," I sigh correcting my posture and finish rubbing my eyes.

As time drags on we talk about various things. It ranges from our weird family background, our numerous siblings, and other whacky things. Then it's his turn and goes into a bit of his background, and explains that he doesn't know or even have the foggiest clue as to what all the fun stuff magic will entail.

Poor kid, all this is completely new to him. I would freak out if I was just introduced to this kind of world when I'm only used to Muggle things. What is it Dad that called the thing they use instead or magic? Oh right. 'Technology'. Weird. I prefer magic

"It's your turn, Ari," Harry says as I'm looking out the wind of the fast moving train.

"'k-kay," I say softly.

I play Exploding Snap and try my best, but the thing always burns me and hurts me. Go figure. I'm not good at this game. That's most likely why Ronny Ron and Harry are laughing at me right now… jerks. Psh, I never liked this game anyway….

**Author's Note: Well, I hope all of you enjoyed this chapter. It's kind of short, but it was fun to write. :—) Well, continue to enjoy it, follow, favorite, and review. That's much appreciated! :—D**


	3. Sordid Sorted

**|Chapter Three— Sordid Sorted|**

Wow, we're actually here… on Hogwarts grounds. Everyone that I know that's been to Hogwarts has fantastic tales and experiences here at that castle that's only about a mile away. I can't help but think that perhaps me and my friends will have similar fun times. I can't wait! I can't wait!

"Pinch me, I must be dreaming!" I exclaim softly as I'm smiling widely.

I feel a tiny prick of pain on my arm. So, of course, a tiny and short squeal of distress and surprise leaves my lips. Then I scowl at whomever decided to be a meany and take me literally. Ronny Ron is to blame!

"Hey, what was that for?!" I exclaim whilst pouting and crossing my arms.

"You said to pinch you," he says innocently with a shrug.

"I didn't mean it literally," I whine slightly.

I can hear Harry laughing at us and I can't help the flush that rushes to my cheeks. I'm a little embarrassed… especially when Ronny Ron starts to laugh too. All I can do is flush bashfully as their sounds of amusement do not cease. However, my _suffering_ doesn't last long when a very _very_ large man approaches us. All I do is just stare with dark eyes of wonder….

He's probably about three times the size of an average grown man. He's got a burly and curly beard that's clearly unkept, and equally messy and dark hair. He wears long dark coats, boots that are mud stained, jeans, and a regular shirt. _Where_ does this man shop?

"Firs' years! Firs' years! Firs' years!" He calls. "This way!"

"Hi Hagrid," Harry says in a friendly tone.

I just blink. How does Harry know this large and slightly intimidating man? I hope Hagrid is friendly since it seems we first years are following him.

"'ello Harry!"

I was wrong, this man isn't intimidating at all. I actually kind of like him… underneath that scruffy beard and exterior holds a smile and lovely interior. So, instead of my continuous gaping I just smile in happiness and follow him.

* * *

**|•xXx•|**

* * *

The door swings open at once. A tall, black-haired witch in emerald-green robes stands there. She has a very stern face and my first thought is that she's like a quiet version of my Mum: don't poke the sleeping dragon if don't want to be toasted. But, poking the dragon is too much fun!

"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," says Hagrid.

"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here."

She pulls the door wide. The entrance hall is so big you could have fit my entire house in there… without the magical additions, of course. The stone walls are lit  
with flaming torches like the ones at Gringotts Bank, the ceiling is too high to make out, and a magnificent marble staircase facing them leads to the upper floors.

We follow Professor McGonagall across the flagged stone floor. I can hear the drone of hundreds of voices from a doorway to the right, the rest of the school must already be here. But Professor McGonagall shows us first years into a small, empty chamber off the hall. We crowd in, standing rather closer together than I would usually have done, peering about nervously.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," says Professor McGonagall. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend free time in your house common room.

"The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rulebreaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the house cup, a great honor. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours.

"The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting."

I notice her eyes linger for a moment on Neville's cloak, which is fastened under his left ear, and on Ronny Ron's smudged nose. Harry nervously tries to flatten his hair.

I gulp the excess saliva nervously. I know the basic set up— the Four Houses and all— but it's still nerve wracking. 'Cause I know that which house you're in determines what you're next seven years of live is going to be like. I just don't want to be separated from the rest of my family, however I can't help but feel as if my _other_ traits… will prohibit that.

"I shall return when we are ready for you," says Professor McGonagall. "Please wait quietly."

She leaves the chamber. I can feel this overwhelming pressure in my gut and throat that threatens to break free. And it does.

"Ha ha," I giggle uncomfortably with my eyes closed as I twirl my hair. "Please, it's not that serious."

I know better. It is important, but that horrible swarm of bats have been somewhat released from my tummy. I just try to ignore the stares my little outburst has attracted. Awkward~.

"How exactly do they sort us into houses?" Harry asks me, clearly ignoring my little exclamation.

"Some sort of test, I think. Fred said it hurts a lot, but I think he was joking…. Hehe, I hope," I tell him and the last sentence sounds all nervous.

I can't help the erratic heartbeats banging against my ribcage like a couple of maniacal Girl Scouts trying to make quota. A test? In front of the whole school? But I don't know any magic yet. Any chance of popularity has just been flushed down the crapper. I am now preparing ways to avoid bullies….

I look around anxiously and see that everyone else looks equally as terrified, too. No one is talking much except Hermione Granger, who's whispering very fast about all the spells she'd learned and wondering which ones she's going to need. I try hard not to listen to her. I keep my eyes fixed on the door. Any second now, Professor McGonagall is going to come back and lead me to my doom.

Three boys approach us, and I recognize the middle one at once: it is the pale pubescent puke that's the son of my Dad's enemy. Ugh. What does he want? I've met him once, I think, and I wanted to hit him.

"Is it true?" he says. "They're saying all down the hall that Harry Potter's here. So it's you, is it?"

"Yes," says Harry.

I'm looking at the other boys. Yeesh. Both of them are thickset and look extremely mean. Standing on either side of the pale boy, they look like bodyguards instead of friends.

"Oh, this is Crabbe and this is Goyle," says the pale boy carelessly, I guess he notices that I and the others are looking at his flunkies. "And my name's Malfoy, Draco Malfoy."

Ronny Ron gives a slight cough, which might have been hiding a snigget. Draco Malfoy looks at him. And I look at him with narrowed dark eyes with my arms crossed over my chest.

"Think my name's funny, do you? No need to ask who you are. My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford."

He turns back to Harry. "You'll soon find out some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there."

He holds out his hand to shake Harry's, but Harry, thankfully, doesn't take it.

"I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks," he says coolly.

Draco Malfoy doesn't go red, but a pink tinge appeared in his pale cheeks.

"I'd be careful if I were you, Potter," he says slowly. "Unless you're a bit politer you'll go the same way as your parents. They didn't know what was good for them, either. You hang around with riffraff like the Weasleys and that Hagrid, and it'll rub off on you."

Both Harry and Ronny Ron chest up.

"Say that again," my brother says, his face as red as his hair.

"Oh, you're going to fight us, are you?" Malfoy sneers.

A few kids look even more nervous and the others are shouting 'FIGHT! FIGHT!'. This isn't good. I can't let my brother wrestle with a couple of apes. He'd lose in a heart beat and he might even be crushed to death. Gotta stop this.

"Unless you get out of my sight right now, Mouth Boy," I say to him.

I don't like him. He's vile, cruel, and he insulted my brother. The only person who can tease him is me and me alone.

His face drops to a sneer especially when a few kids behind me laugh a little. My stance and expression don't waver as his pointed face comes close to mine… merely inches from my face. I want to back up, but I don't… I stand my ground.

"And who are you? Weasel Head's girlfriend?" He teases.

A few kids snicker.

"No, sicko, his sister. Just because your boyfriends over there are your half gorilla cousins, doesn't mean that incest is a common thing. Okay?" I shoot back at him as he _doesn't_ back up.

A good few fellow first years are laughing that includes Harry and Ronny Ron. I smirk slightly at his angry stupid red face, but I'm a little worried… Crabbe and Goyle look as if they wish to pulverize me with their bare fists. Uh-oh.

Hermione, then steps between us as much as possible. She puts her hands up trying to be her usual butting in self. Right now, it's more useful than annoying right now.

"Come on, you two, don't fight alright? That's against the rules and school hasn't even started yet," she says sternly.

Then something happens that makes all the hair stand up on the back of my neck— several people behind me scream.

"What the—?"

I then frown. Are you kidding me? These people do _not_ need to scream like banshees. Weirdly enough Harry grabs onto my arm for a moment. Why me? Oh well.

Anyway, about twenty ghosts has just streamed through the back wall. Pearly-white and slightly transparent, they glide across the room talking to one another and hardly glancing at the first years. They seem to be arguing. What looks like a fat little monk is saying: 'Forgive and forget, I say, we ought to give him a second chance—'

"My dear Friar, haven't we given Peeves all the chances he deserves? He gives us all a bad name and you know, he's not really even a ghost. I say, what are you all doing here?"

A ghost wearing a ruff and tights has suddenly noticed the first years. Nobody answers. I've never had a discussion with a spirit before.

"New students!" Says the Fat Friar, smiling around at them. "About to be Sorted, I suppose?"

A few people nod mutely. I accomplish a smile; I've never liked ghosts. It's weird. I think it's fun when I stick my fist through their stomach, they get so mad at me when I do that.

"Hope to see you in Hufflepuff!" Says the Friar. "My old house, you know."

"Move along now," says a sharp voice. "The Sorting Ceremony's about to start."

Professor McGonagall had returned. One by one, the ghosts floated away through the opposite wall.

"Now, form a line," Professor McGonagall tells us. "and follow me."

I'm one of the first to line up, mostly because no one else will do it. notice that Harry is behind me and then next Ron. Yeah! I have my new friend and my brother with me. Now, I don't feel as nervous.

I've never even imagined such a strange and splendid place. It is lit by thousands and thousands of candles that are floating in midair over four long tables, where the rest of the students are sitting. Man, these things must be charmed so that wax doesn't burn students. Ouch! The tables are laid with glittering golden plates and goblets. At the top of the hall is another long table where the teachers are sitting. Professor McGonagall leads us up here, so that we come to a halt in a line facing the other students, with the teachers behind them. The hundreds of faces staring at them look like pale lanterns in the flickering candlelight. Dots here and there among the students, the ghosts shine misty silver. I got tired of that, so I'm looking up at the ceiling which is glittering with stars.

I hear Hermione whisper, "It's bewitched to look like the sky outside. I read about it in Hogwarts, A History."

It was hard to believe there is a ceiling there at all, and that the Great Hall doesn't simply open up to out space, the vast unknown.

I watch over the top of some blonde kid's head to see Professor McGonagall silently place a four-legged stool in front of us first years. On top of the stool she puts a pointed wizard's hat. This hat is patched and frayed and extremely dirty. Great Aunt Tessy wouldn't have let it in her house and Fred and George, would try to smuggle it in… like drugs.

Whoa, is that crusty and musty old thing Percy told me about? It doesn't look that impressive. In fact, I don't think it'll last long whatsoever by the looks of it. However, upon noticing that everyone in the hall is now staring at the hat, I stare at it, too. For a few seconds, there is complete silence. Then the hat twitches whichever excites and startles me. A rip near the brim opens wide like a mouth and the hat begins to sing:

"Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,

But don't judge on what you see, I'll eat myself if you can find

A smarter hat than me.

You can keep your bowlers black, Your top hats sleek and tall,

For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat

And I can cap them all.

There's nothing hidden in your head The Sorting Hat can't see,

So try me on and I will tell you

Where you ought to be.

You might belong in Gryffindor,

Where dwell the brave at heart,

Their daring, nerve, and chivalry

Set Gryffindors apart;

You might belong in Hufflepuff,

Where they are just and loyal,

Those patient Hufflepuffis are true

And unafraid of toil;

Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,

if you've a ready mind,

Where those of wit and learning,

Will always find their kind;

Or perhaps in Slytherin

You'll make your real friends,

Those cunning folk use any means

To achieve their ends.

So put me on! Don't be afraid!

And don't get in a flap!

You're in safe hands (though I have none)

For I'm a Thinking Cap!"

The whole hall bursts into applause as the hat finishes its song. It bows to each of the four tables and then becomes quite still again. I'm practically cheering in delight with a smile lighting up my features and my hands clapping together.

"So we've just got to try on the hat!" I hear Ronny Ron whispers to Harry. "I'll kill Fred, he was going on about wrestling a troll."

I nod to myself. My eyes are still closed, and a wide open smile is still plastered in my face. This is my typical expression when relief washes over me. Also, I'm going to help Ronny Ron with killing Fred, he told us wrong. Meany!

Professor McGonagall now steps forward holding a long roll of parchment.

"When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," she says. "Abbott, Hannah!"

A pink-faced girl with blonde pigtails stumbles out of line, puts on the hat, which falls right down over her eyes, and sits down. A moments pause…

"HUFFLEPUFF!" Shouts the hat.

The table on the right cheers and claps as Hannah goes to sit down at the Hufflepuff table. I see the ghost of the Fat Friar waving merrily at her. Which ever house I end up in I'm going to punch him or her right in the stomach. It won't hurt them, but they'll get really angry.

Hehe, I can't wait!

"Bones, Susan!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!" Shouts the hat again, and Susan scuttles off to sit next to Hannah.

"Boot, Terry!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

The table second from the left claps this time; several Ravenclaws stand up to shake hands with Terry as he joins them. Ugh, they seem like fuddy-duddies like Percy. _Blegh_.

'Brocklehurst, Mandy" goes to Ravenclaw too, but 'Brown, Lavender' becomes the first new Gryffindor, and the table on the far left explodes with cheers; my twin brothers are cat calling. Poor Brown.

'Bulstrode, Millicent' then becomes a Slytherin. Perhaps it's just me somehow trippin'— after all I've heard about Slytherin to boot— but they don't look _that_ scary. Please. I've been through Fred and George trying to do a Dutch Oven. Ugh, unpleasant shivers run down my spine. Anyway, everyone keeps describing them as like demons that crawled out of hell to begin the Apocalypse. They're not exactly beautiful, but they're not exactly demonic.

"Finch-Fletchley Justin."

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

Sometimes, I notice, the hat shouts out the house at once, but at others it takes a little while to decide. 'Finnigan, Seamus' the sandy-haired boy in front of me in the line, sits on the stool for almost a whole minute before the hat declares him a Gryffindor.

"Granger, Hermione!"

Hermione almost _runs _to the stool and jams the hat eagerly on her head. Oh for Merlin's sake, calm down and don't break the hat for crying out loud. It's going to be okay.

"GRYFFINDOR!" Shouts the hat.

Ron groans. I giggle. Harry looks indifferent.

A horrible thought strikes me like an idiot with a mettle rod out in a thunder storm. What if I don't become a Gryffindor? Will Mum and Dad be mad? All of my family that we associate with were Gryffindors when they were in school. It'll be like a broken tradition and kind of a disgrace. No. I must put these horrible thoughts away.

When Neville Longbottom, the boy who keeps losing his toad, is called he falls over on his way to the stool. The hat takes a long time to decide with Neville. When it finally shouts, 'GRYFFINDOR' Neville runs off still wearing it, and has to jog back amid gales of laughter to give it to 'MacDougal Morag'.

Malfoy swaggers forward when his name is called and got his wish at once: the hat has barely touched his head when it screams, "SLYTHERIN!"

Malfoy goes to join his friends Crabbe and Goyle, looking pleased with himself.

There aren't many people left now. 'Moon' 'Nott' 'Parkinson' then a pair of twin girls, 'Patil' and 'Patil' then 'Perks, Sally-Anne' and then someone who matters to me- 'Potter, Harry'.

As Harry steps forward, whispers suddenly break out like little buzzing flies in your ears all over the hall.

"Potter, did she say?"

"The Harry Potter?"

After a few prolonged moments of watching Harry sit there awkwardly, finally the hat screams. I can feel my stomach twisting. It's almost my turn.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

And now there are only me people left to be sorted. 'Thomas, Dean' a black boy even taller than Ronny Ron, joins the Gryffindor table. Cool, I just wish his sorting would've taken longer! 'Turpin, Lisa' becomes a Ravenclaw and then it's my turn before Ronny Ron.

"Weasley Ariana."

I walk up there, uncrossing my arms. I keep my eyes on the hat before me, looking at crowds tears up my nerves like two crazy monkeys. Fighting down the urge to throw up, I sit down, cross one leg over the other, put the hat on my head, and place my hands on my lap.

The last thing I see before the hat drops over his eyes was the hall full of people looking at me in curiosity. Next second I'm looking at the black inside of the hat. I wait.

"Hmm," says a small voice in my ear making me jump slightly. "Difficult. Very difficult. Recklessly courageous, I see. Did you really bounce off your practically spring loaded trunk and slam into your _brick_ walled home? Other than your courage that borders stupidity, you have a fiercely sharp mind. No bad at manipulation, are you? There's potential— oh my goodness, yes— and an overwhelming amount of childish sweetness despite these factors, now that's interesting…. So where shall I put you, darling?"

I close my eyes, bit my bottom lip, and squeeze the edges of the stool. Hard. I can hear the still creaking….

"With my friends and family. With my friends and family. With my friends and family," I whisper over and over again.

"With your friends and family, eh?" Says the small voice. "Are you sure? You could be great, you know, in Slytherin. Your potential, brains and manipulation are aspects of this house— no? Well, if you're sure you want to be held back with your family and friends— better be GRYFFINDOR!"

I hear the hat shout the last word to the whole hall.

"Thank you, Mr. Sorting Hat," I smile softly and sweetly with my signature smile.

"… Well, off you go," the hat says uncomfortably.

He take off the hat and practically skip off towards the Gryffindor table. I feel so free and giddy about the insane stress off my shoulders, I begin doing cartwheels over there. I'm small enough to do it well. Of course, Percy the Prefect gets up and scolds me vigorously, whilst I straighten up, 'Ariana, behave properly right now!' I see the ghost and a smirk of child-like wonder crosses my face. I punch him in the stomach causing a cold and tingling sensation to run up and down my arm.

"Excuse me, young lady, I may not be able to feel that, but it still hurts my feelings," he says with his ghost hands on his ghost hips.

"I know, but I couldn't resist," I giggle before sitting down.

I sit in the place where Harry makes room for me on his left side. Yea! I'm even happier, I get to sit beside a new friend of mine.

Hey, guess what? I can see the High Table properly now. At the end nearest him sat Hagrid, who is smiling behind that surely beard of his. I can't help it, his smile makes me smile. And there, in the center of the High Table— in a large gold chair— sits Albus Dumbledore. I recognize him at once from the card I'd get out of the many countless Chocolate Frogs when I highly crave chocolate— which is like all the time. Dumbledore's silver hair is the only thing in the whole hall that shines as brightly as the ghosts. That's all I know for now, the boys at home aren't clear enough with their complaints of certain professors for me to pick out by appearance alone.

Oh my, it's my twinsie's turn! Ronny Ron is pale green by now.

I cross my fingers and toes— for extra measure— under the table and a second later the hat shouts, "GRYFFINDOR!"

I clap loudly, stand, and cheer him on much to his embarrassment. Soon enough between my family's other set of twins, we start off a little competition at who can be the loudest. My shrill little girl screams are barely taking the lead! However, I can't keep that up long since it's killing my throat. Then once Ronny Ron sits down we stop.

"Well done, Ron, excellent," says Percy Weasley pompously across Harry as 'Zabini, Blaise' is made a Slytherin.

Professor McGonagall rolls up her scroll and takes the Sorting Hat away.

I then look down at my empty gold plate. I feel my tummy-wummy grumble at me and I silently tell it to be quiet. Who knew that traveling on a train for a couple hours, meeting mean Pure-blood extremists, getting sorted, and screaming and cheering on my brother would make a girl so hungry? I surely didn't.

Albus Dumbledore has gotten to his feet. He is beaming at the students, his arms are open wide, as if nothing could have pleased him more than to see them all there.

"Welcome," he says. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!"

He sits back down. Everybody claps and cheers. Yea, can I eat some food now? I'm kind of starving. Just going to put that out there.

"Is he a bit mad?" He asks me in my ear uncertainly.

"Mad?" I say casually as I pile my food up high. "He's apparently a genius! Best wizard in the world they say! But he is a bit mad, yes. Chocolate, Harry?"

Harry's mouth falls open. The dishes in front of him are now piled with food. I can't blame him, I've never seen so many things I like to eat on one table: roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops and lamb chops, sausages, bacon and steak, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, fries, Yorkshire pudding, peas, carrots, gravy, ketchup, and, for some strange reason, peppermint humbugs. And let's not forget my chocolate!

I mix the Yorkshire pudding with the aspic I find. Then I stir the peas, carrots, and gravy together. Next I chop all of my meat together into itty bitty pieces and then crush the peppermint humbugs in there. Finally for my most awesome meal, I gather all the potatoes together and add in the ketchup, and the CHOCOLATE!

I start to eat it rather vigorously whilst humming contently. Yummy! However, from the corner of my eyes I see Harry and a few other kids around— not including my family who know this is the drill— look at me in horror.

I finish my swallow and ask innocently, "What?"

"You actually like that stuff… _together_?" Hermione sounds a little hysterical.

"Yes. Don't you?" I say still confused with my dark eyes still blinking in a childlike fashion.

"That's _disgusting_!" She says and other students agree.

I shrug. This isn't the first time I've heard that from someone.

"I don't know what she's talking about. That looks good, I can smell it from all the way over there," says the ghost in the ruff sadly, watching me take a bite of my pudding and aspic mixture.

"Can't you—?"

"I haven't eaten for nearly four hundred years," says the ghost. "I don't need to, of course, but one does miss it. I don't think I've in troduced myself? Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington at your service. Resident ghost of Gryffindor Tower, the one you punched in the stomach."

"S-sorry, but it was kind of fun and funny," I flush slightly before getting back to my magically delicious concoction.

"I know who you are!" Says Ronny Ron suddenly. "My brothers told me about you— you're Nearly Headless Nick!"

"I would prefer you to call me Sir Nicholas de Mimsy—" the ghost begins stiffly, but sandy-haired Seamus Finnigan interrupts.

"Nearly Headless? How can you be nearly headless?"

Sir Nicholas looks extremely miffed more so when I punched him, as if their little chat isn't going at all the way he wanted.

"Like this," he says irritably. He seizes his left ear and pulled. His whole head swings off his neck and falls onto his shoulder as if it is on a hinge. Someone has obviously tried to behead him, but not done it properly. Looking pleased at the stunned looks on their faces, Nearly Headless Nick flips his head back onto his neck, coughs, and says, "So, new Gryffindors! I hope you're going to help us win the house championship this year? Gryffindors have never gone so long without winning. Slytherins have got the cup six years in a row! The Bloody Baron's becoming almost unbearable, he's the Slytherin ghost."

I look over at the Slytherin table and see a horrible ghost sitting there, with blank staring eyes, a gaunt face, and robes stained with silver blood. He is right next to Malfoy who, I am pleased to see, doesn't look too pleased with the seating arrangements. Ha ha!

"How did he get covered in blood?" Asks Seamus with great interest.

"I've never asked," says Nearly Headless Nick delicately.

When everyone has eaten as much as they could, the remains of the food fades from the plates, leaving them sparkling clean as before. A moment later the desserts appear. Blocks of ice cream in every flavor you could think of, apple pies, treacle tarts, CHOCOLATE ECLAIRS and jam doughnuts, trifle, strawberries, Jell-O, and rice pudding.

As I mix it all together and smash it with my fork and spoon to condense it, the talk turns to our families.

"I'm half-and-half," says Seamus. "Me dad's a Muggle. Mom didn't tell him she was a witch 'til after they were married. Bit of a nasty shock for him."

The others laughed.

"What about you, Neville?" Asks Ronny Ron.

"Well, my gran brought me up and she's a witch," says Neville, "but the family thought I was all Muggle for ages. My Great Uncle Algie kept trying to catch me off my guard and force some magic out of me, he pushed me off the end of Blackpool pier once, I nearly drowned - but nothing happened until I was eight. Great Uncle Algie came round for dinner, and he was hanging me out of an upstairs window by the ankles when my Great Auntie Enid offered him a meringue and he accidentally let go. But I bounced, all the way down the garden and into the road. They were all really pleased, Gran was crying, she was so happy. And you should have seen their faces when I got in here; they thought I might not be magical enough to come, you see. Great Uncle Algie was so pleased he bought me my toad."

On my other side, Percy Weasley and Hermione are talking about lessons ('I do hope they start right away, there's so much to learn, I'm particularly interested in Transfiguration, you know, turning something into something else, of course, it's supposed to be very difficult'; 'You'll be starting small, just matches into needles and that sort of thing').

I'm starting to feel sleepy as I begin to rub my full tummy in soothing circles, so I rest my head on Ronny Ron's shoulder. He narrows his eyes at me and tries to get me to get off of him, but I'm stubborn about it.

"Come on, just let it happen, 'kay?" I repeat over and over sleepily each time he moves his shoulder.

A moment of silence drags on and I feel content and sleepy. I love how my brother puts up with me like this; he's the best ever!

"Ariana, sometimes… I just swear to Merlin," he grumbles in annoyance.

I take the back… a little. He's being whiney. Eh, I can be whiney too, but still.

"Ouch!" Harry exclaims loudly startling me slightly.

"What is it?" Asks Percy.

"N-nothing."

I sit up and look over to him with bleary eyes. I'm still tired, but he's got my full attention. I'm concerned after all; I feel like he's a friend… even if I just met him.

"Who's that teacher talking to Professor Quirrell?" he asks Percy.

"Oh, you know Quirrell already, do you? No wonder he's looking so nervous, that's Professor Snape. He teaches Potions, but he doesn't want to— everyone knows he's after Quirrell's job. Knows an awful lot about the Dark Arts, Snape."

I watch the man he's talking about. He looks like a waxy bat man. Ew. He's super pale, he's got a hooked nose, long greasy hair, and dresses all in black. No wonder hHarry's creeped out.

At last, the desserts too disappear and Professor Dumbledore got to his feet again. The hall falls silent.

"Ahern. Just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you.

"First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well."

Dumbledore's twinkling eyes flash in the direction of my twin brothers. Yeah, they're really mischievous.

"I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors.

"Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madame Hooch.

"And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor  
on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."

Harry laughs, but he is one of the few who do.

"He's not serious?" He mutters to Percy and I listen.

"Must be," I say, frowning at Dumbledore. "It's odd, because he usually gives us a reason why we're not allowed to go somewhere. The forest's full of dangerous beasts, everyone knows that. I do think he might have told us prefects, at least."

"And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!" Cries Dumbledore.

I notice that the other teachers' smiles had become rather fixed.

Dumbledore gave his wand a little flick, as if he was trying to get a fly off the end, and a long golden ribbon flew out of it, which rose high above the tables and twisted itself, snakelike, into words.

"Everyone picks their favorite tune," says Dumbledore. "and off we go!"

And the school bellows:

"Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts, Teach us something please,

Whether we be old and bald

Or young with scabby knees,

Our heads could do with filling

With some interesting stuff,

For now they're bare and full of air,

Dead flies and bits of fluff,

So teach us things worth knowing,

Bring back what we've forgot,

just do your best, we'll do the rest,

And learn until our brains all rot."

Everybody finishes the song at different times. At last, only Fred and George are left singing along to a very slow funeral march. Dumbledore conducts our last few lines with his wand and when we had finished, he is one of those who claps the loudest.

"Ah, music," he says, wiping his eyes. "A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!"

All of us first years follow Percy through the chattering crowds, out of the Great Hall, and up the marble staircase. My legs are like lead again, but only because I'm stuffed to the brim and I've been up since seven thirty this morning. I'm too sleepy to even converse with the people in the portraits along the corridors who are whispering and pointing as we passed. I only lazily notice that twice Percy leads us through doorways hidden behind sliding panels and hanging tapestries. We all climb more staircases, yawning and dragging our feet, and I'm about to accuse Percy for being lost when we come to a sudden halt.

A bundle of walking sticks are floating in midair ahead of us, and as Percy takes a step towards them they start throwing themselves at him. I'm so tired I can't even giggle.

"Peeves," Percy whispers to us first years. "A poltergeist." He raises his voice. "Peeves! Show yourself!"

A loud, rude sound, like the air being let out of a balloon, answers.

"Do you want me to go to the Bloody Baron?"

There is a pop, and a little man with wicked, dark eyes and a wide mouth appears, floating cross legged in the air, and clutching the walking sticks.

"Oooooooh!" He says, with an evil cackle. "Ickle Firsties! What fun!"

He swoops suddenly at us. We all duck.

"Go away, Peeves, or the Baron'll hear about this, I mean it!" Barks Percy.

Peeves sticks out his tongue and vanishes, dropping the walking sticks on Neville's head. They hear him zooming away, rattling coats of armor as he passes.

"You want to watch out for Peeves," says Percy, as they set off again. "The Bloody Baron's the only one who can control him, he won't even listen to us prefects. Here we are."

At the very end of the corridor hangs a portrait of a very fat woman in a pink silk dress.

"Password?" She says.

"Caput Draconis," says Percy, and the portrait swings forward to reveal a round hole in the wall. We all scramble through it— Neville needs a leg up— and find themselves in the Gryffindor common room, a cozy, round room full of squashy armchairs.

Percy directs us girls through one door to their dormitory and the boys through another. At the top of a spiral staircase— we are obviously in one of the towers— we girls find our beds at last: five four-posters hung with deep red, velvet curtains. Our trunks have already been brought up. Too tired to talk much, we pull on our pajamas and fall into bed.

"Great food, isn't it?" Hermione mutters through the hangings to anyone at all that would listen. "I can't wait for classes tomorrow."

I was going to ask her if she knew any sort of sense of 'fun', but I've fallen asleep almost at once.

Perhaps I've eaten a bit too much, because I'm having a very strange dream:

_I'm alone in my room that I share with Ronny Ron. Suddenly, the lights go out and it's pitch black. I shiver since the atmosphere all of a sudden dropped and went extremely cold. Then the lights flip on and I am in a dark and blood red area. All of it's covered with dripping blood and water plants. And there's a single bookshelf. It looks as if it's one of the universes in my story books._

_ I stand slowly and approach the bookshelf. I'm compelled to do it and I have no idea why. I pick a book from there. It doesn't have a label so I open it. Immediately it flies in front of me in the air._

_It speaks to me in a low and creepy tone, "Want to hear a funny story?"_

_I nod._

_It speaks again, "__One day a rich man was pulling a cart through the forest, along the way his cart broke. A hunter and his dog soon appeared in the forest, the rich man asking him if he would watch over his cart so he could go into town to get another. The hunter agreed._

_Night soon came and the rich man had not yet returned. The hunter soon grew worried about his elderly mother who was alone at home. He told the dog to guard the cart then left to tend to his mother._

_The rich man returned with a new cart, and seeing the dog he gave it an award to take back to its master, a silver coin, to carry in its mouth. The dog went straight home, giving the coin to its master._

_Upon seeing the dog the hunter flew into rage, 'I__ told you to guard the cart, and what do you do, you steal from it!'_

_ The hunter killed the dog."_

_I can't make a sound or move away as the book drops to the floor. I'm compelled to pick up another and it's labeled the 'Book of Death'. I open it and as my eyes scan over the words they start to feel itchy. I rub my eyes and I can't find relief as I keep rubbing harder and harder. I look down at my hands and there all red and I can feel a hot liquid running down my face from my eye sockets…._

_Then I stand up looking for something as I silently scream. Then I feel scaly hands grasp my throat tightly and intensely. I can't make any noise from my mouth. I look up through red hazy eyes to see the one and only: Lord Voldemort._

_"It's time to get to the dying, child," he hisses maliciously._

_My neck snaps as he laughs sadistically at me. I whimper horribly._

I wake up with a horrible start and feel my body rigid and in a cold sweat. I'm shaking horribly and I feel my bottom lip quivering. I then curl up in a ball wishing Ronny Ron is here to comfort me. I'm scared.

**Author's Note: Well, that was a dark and angsty ending. :—) I hope you like this fanfic. ****Anyway, I hope you enjoy, follow, favorite, and review. :—D**


	4. Classes Passes

**Author's Note:**

**I'm having so much with this fic. And I typically don't write a lot of Harry Potter FanFiction. I enjoy making Ariana super quirky and adorable. :—D**

**|Thanking Guest Reviewers|**

**—•Anonymous: Thank you for the review. I understand what you mean and I'm glad you find Ariana so amusing. I think it's cool that you're French… I've been taking French since the 9th grade, but my language proficiency is probably on the level of a 1st grader though. :—D**

**|Chapter Four— Classes Passes|**

"There, look."

"Where?"

"Next to the poofy brown haired girl and tall kid with red hair."

"Wearing the glasses?"

"Did you see his face?"

"Did you see his scar?"

Whispers follow us from the moment we meet in the common room today. People lining up outside classrooms stand on tiptoe to get a look at Harry, or double back to pass him in the corridors again, staring. I wish they wouldn't, because it feels like they're staring at me… and I don't like that. Plus, I'm lost and trying to find my classes.

There are a hundred and forty-two staircases at Hogwarts: wide, sweeping ones; narrow, rickety ones; some that leads somewhere different on a Friday; some with a vanishing step halfway up that you have to remember to jump. Then there are doors that won't open unless you ask politely, or tickle them in exactly the right place, and doors that aren't really doors at all, but solid walls just pretending. It's also very hard to remember where anything is because it all seems to move around a lot. The people in the portraits keep going to visit each other, and I'm pretty sure the coats of armor can walk.

The ghosts aren't any help, either. It's always a nasty shock when one of them glides suddenly through a door you are trying to open. One fist is fine, but when you're entire body goes through them… ick. Nearly Headless Nick is always happy to point new Gryffindors in the right direction, but Peeves the Poltergeist is worth two locked doors and a trick staircase if you meet him when you are late for class. He will drop wastepaper baskets on your head, pull rugs from under your feet, pelt you with bits of chalk, or sneak up behind you (invisible) grab your nose, and screech, 'GOT YOUR CONK!'

Even worse than Peeves, if that's possible, is the caretaker, Argus Filch. Harry, Ronny Ron and I managed to get on the wrong side of him on our very first morning. Filch found us trying to force our way through a door that unluckily turned out to be the entrance to the out-of-bounds corridor on the third floor. He wouldn't believe us thar we were lost, was sure we were trying to break into it on purpose, and was threatening to lock us in the dungeons when we were rescued by Professor Quirrell, who was passing.

Filch owns a cat named Mrs. Norris: a scrawny, dust-colored creature with bulging, lamp like eyes just like Filch's. She patrols the corridors alone. Break a rule in front of her, put just one toe out of line, and she _will_ whisk off for Filch, who _will_ appear, wheezing, two seconds later. Filch knows the secret passageways of the school better than anyone (except perhaps Fred and George) and can pop up as suddenly as any of the ghosts. I hate him quite a bit— and I never hate anybody, usually— and I can tell it's Ronny Ron's dearest ambition to give Mrs. Norris a good kick.

And then, once you manage to find them, there are the classes themselves. There's a lot more to magic, as I quickly find out, then waving your wand and saying a few funny words.

We have to study the night skies through our telescopes every Wednesday at midnight and learn the names of different stars and the movements of the planets. Let me tell ya, Dragon Ball Z makes planets and going through space a lot cooler than it actually is (Dad gave me some… what's the word… _manga_ that was confiscated at the Ministry from some crazy kids). Three times a week we go out to the greenhouses behind the castle to study Herbology, with a dumpy little witch called Professor Sprout, where we learn how to take care of all the strange plants and fungi, and find out what they are used for.

Easily the most boring class is History of Magic, which is the only one taught by a ghost. Professor Binns had been very old indeed when he had fallen asleep in front of the staff room fire and got up next morning to teach, leaving his body behind him. Binns drones on and on while we scribble down names and dates, and I got Emetic the Evil and Uric the Oddball mixed up. So naturally, on my first day I fell asleep and woke up to Hermione throwing one of her quills at me. Of course, I threw it right back at her… an eye for an eye after all.

Professor Flitwick, the Charms teacher, is this tiny little wizard who has to stand on a pile of books to see over his desk. At the start of our first class he takes the roll call, and when he reaches Harry's name he gives an excited squeak and toppled out of sight. It's so funny and he's so cute! I know it's probably weird thinking your professor is adorable, but he _is_! He's easily my favorite teacher….

Professor McGonagall is, again, different. I had been quite right to think she isn't a teacher to cross. Strict and clever, she gives us a 'talking to' the moment we sit down in her first class.

"Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts," she says. "Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come back. You have been warned."

Then she changes her desk into a pig and back again. We are all very impressed and can't wait to get started. But, we soon realize we aren't going to be changing the furniture into animals for a long time. After taking a lot of complicated notes, we are each given a match and start trying to turn it into a needle. By the end of the lesson, I manage to get it a little more pointy, but it's not that impressive. Especially compared to Hermione Granger who has significantly changed her match; Professor McGonagall shows the class how it has gone all silver and pointy and gives Hermione a rare smile.

The class I've really been looking forward to is Defense Against the Dark Arts, but Quirrell's lessons turns out to be a bit of a joke. His classroom smells strongly of garlic, which everyone says is to ward off a vampire he'd met in Romania and is afraid would be coming back to get him one of these days. His turban, he tells us, has been given to him by an African prince as a 'thank you' for getting rid of a troublesome zombie, but I'm not sure I believe this story. For one thing, when Seamus Finnigan asks eagerly to hear how Quirrell had fought off the zombie, Quirrell goes pink and starts talking about the weather; for another, I notice that a funny smell hangs around the turban, and Fred and George insist that it is stuffed full of garlic as well, so that Quirrell is protected wherever he goes. _Bullocks~_.

To be honest, I was so worried and full of anticipation that I was going to be miles behind other students, but I'm not. I'm actually fairing pretty well especially compared to unfortunate students like Neville Longbottom, but compared to Hermione Granger I might as well pack my trunk and call it quits.

Friday is an important day for me, Harry and Ronny Ron. We've finally managed to find our way down to the Great Hall for breakfast without getting lost once! Pat each other on the back for that one.

"What have we got today?" Harry asks me as he pours sugar on his porridge.

"Double Potions with the Slytherins," I say. "Snape's Head of Slytherin House. They say he always favors them we'll be able to see if it's true."

I'm tearing apart my pancakes with my hands, mixing it with my grits, and pouring in hot sauce. Hermione is giving me that look again and I just stick my tongue out at her. Her eyes widen and then looks away with a scoff. I go back to my food and take a large bite of it with gusto.

"Wish McGonagall favored us, " says Harry.

Professor McGonagall is head of Gryffindor House, but it doesn't stop her from giving us a huge pile of homework the day before.

Just then, the mail arrives. I've gotten used to this by now, but it did scare me a little on the first morning, when about a hundred owls had suddenly streamed into the Great Hall during breakfast, circling the tables until they saw their owners, and dropping letters and packages onto their laps. Too many birds… it makes me fear having bird poop in my breakfast.

Earl hasn't brought me anything so far. He sometimes flys in to bring my brothers mail and have a bit of _MY_ toast (each time that happens I try to swat him with the Daily Prophet) before going off to sleep in the owlery with the other school owls. This morning, however, she crash lands between the marmalade and the sugar bowl and drops a note onto my plate. I tear it open at once. Excitement is brimming in me. It says, in a very neat scrawl:

_Dear Ariana,_

_Sorry it took so long for this letter to get to you. That ruddy bird, Earl, kept bringing it back and on top of that crashing into the brick wall. Speaking of brick walls, young lady, you've managed to dent it! How can you a small twelve year old girl push not one but TWO bricks back? Merlin's beard, Ariana… sometimes I wonder what goes on in that head of yours?_

_Anyway, sweetie, I'm glad you got into Gryffindor! Yes, another Gryffindor!_

_— Mum_

I think my Mum is bipolar. She goes from 'la-la HAPPY' and then like a crack of a whip she goes to 'gr-gr RAWR'. It's very unsettling and the only two people who know this better than me is Fred and George. However, my Mum is the least of my problems….

Potions lessons take place down in one of the dungeons. It is colder here than up in the main castle, and would have been quite creepy enough without the pickled animals floating in glass jars all around the walls. Snape, like Flitwick, starts the class by taking the roll call, and like Flitwick, he pauses at Harry's name. Though, it's not as funny when Professor Flitwick comes across his name.

"Ah, yes," he says softly, "Harry Potter, our new celebrity."

Draco Malfoy and his friends Crabbe and Goyle snigger behind their hands. I stick my tongue out at them… I can see it ticks off Malfoy the most. Snape finishes calling the names and looks up at the class. And… weirdly enough I think I heard him falter on my name as well. Odd. His eyes are black like Hagrid's, but they have none of Hagrid's warmth. They are cold and empty and makes you think of dark tunnels. Eek.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion making," he begins. He speaks in barely more than a whisper, but I catch every word— like Professor McGonagall, Snape has the gift of keeping a class silent without effort. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses…. I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even put a stopper in death… if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

More silence follows this little speech. Harry and I exchange looks with raised eyebrows. This man is interesting to say the least…. Hermione Granger is on the edge of her seat and looks desperate to start proving that she isn't a dunderhead.

"Potter!" Says Snape suddenly. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Powdered root of what to an infusion of what? Harry glances at me, of all people and I just shrug with a small smile; Hermione's hand shoots into the air.

"I don't know, sir," says Harry.

Snape's lips curl into a sneer. I consider sticking out my tongue out at him, but Fred and George told me that he's one of the worst teachers towards Gryffindors.

"Tut-tut, fame clearly isn't everything."

He ignores Hermione's hand. Could this be taken up to Professor Dumbledore for harassment? Would he do anything or just laugh? I don't know the man well enough.

"Let's try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

Hermione stretches her hand as high into the air as it would go without her leaving her seat. Merlin, does she always have to prove herself as the most hard working and studious? It's kind of annoying. I feel bad for Harry, Mouth Boy and his ape friends are laughing so loudly.

"I don't know, sir."

"Thought you wouldn't open a book before coming, eh, Potter?"

I don't blame if he didn't because I surely didn't. That's because I have a life… you know prank wars with my brothers. They, for some reason, always think it's the most hilarious thing ever to get me mad; of course, I just ruin their pranks in retaliation.

Snape is still ignoring Hermione's quivering hand.

"What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

At this, Hermione stands up, her hand stretching toward the dungeon ceiling.

"I don't know," says Harry quietly. "I think Hermione does, though, why don't you try her?"

A few people laugh including myself; Harry catches my eyes and I nod at him and he smiles. Snape, however, is not amused.

"Sit down," he snaps at Hermione. "For your information, Potter, asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death. A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and it will save you from most poisons. As for monkshood and wolfsbane, they are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite. Well? Why aren't you all copying that down?" There is a sudden rummaging for quills and parchment. Over the noise, Snape says, "And a point will be taken from Gryffindor House for your cheek, Potter."

Things don't improve for the Gryffindors as the Potions lesson continues. Snape puts us all into pairs and sets us to mixing up a simple potion to cure boils. He sweeps around in his long black cloak, watching us weigh dried nettles and crush snake fangs, criticizing almost everyone except Mouth Boy, whom he seems to like. He is telling everyone to look at the perfect way Mouth Boy has stewed his horned slugs.

It bothers me so much I _accidentally_— totally on purpose— stir a bit out of control and fling my ladle across the room and it ends up smacking Mouth Boy right between the eyes. _Oops_. He cries out in pain and Snape rounds on Harry for this when clouds of acid green smoke and a loud hissing fills the dungeon. Neville has somehow managed to melt Seamus's cauldron into a twisted blob, and their potion is seeping across the stone floor, burning holes in people's shoes. Within seconds, the whole class is standing on their stools while Neville— who has been drenched in the potion when the cauldron collapsed— moans in pain as angry red boils spring up all over his arms and legs.

I can't help the giggles that erupt from me. Oh my Merlin, that's so funny! I'm practically shaking with giggles when everyone is looking at me incredulously; I don't know people's pain is extremely amusing to me.

"Idiot boy!" Snarls Snape, clearing the spilled potion away with one wave of his wand. "I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?"

Neville whimpers as boils starts to pop up all over his nose.

"Take him up to the hospital wing," Snape spits at Seamus. Then he rounds on Harry and me, since we have been working next to Neville. "You, Potter, why didn't you tell him not to add the quills? Thought he'd make you look good if he got it wrong, did you? That's another point you've lost for Gryffindor."

I can tell Harry's about to argue with our professor, so I kick him under our caldron.

"Don't push it," I mutter, "I've heard Snape can turn very nasty."

As Harry, Ronny Ron and I climb the steps out of the dungeon an hour later, I'm feeling a bit down in the slumps. Gryffindor sure is hated in potions. All I can think about is how I can deal with this. The only thing I can think about is my philosophy towards everything: 'An eye for an eye'.

I smirk mischievously, next time Snaper-doodle and Mouth Boy you shall pay. It's going to take a lot more than ladle to the face for us to be even.

"Cheer up," says Ronny Ron thankfully not noticing my smirk, "Snape's always taking points off Fred and George. Can I come and meet Hagrid with you?"

I perk up immediately at the mention of Hagrid and clap my hands together excitedly, "Ooh, me too! Me too!"

* * *

**|•xXx•|**

* * *

At five to three we leave the castle and make our way across the grounds. Hagrid lives in a small wooden house on the edge of the forbidden forest. A crossbow and a pair of galoshes are outside the front door. When Harry knocks we hear a frantic scrambling from inside and several booming barks.

Then Hagrid's voice rings out, saying, "Back, Fang! Back!"

Hagrid's big, hairy face appears in the crack as he pulls the door open.

"Hang on," he says. "Back, Fang!"

He lets us in, struggling to keep a hold on the collar of an enormous black boar hound.

There is only one room inside. Hams and pheasants are hanging from the ceiling, a copper kettle is boiling on the open fire, and in the corner stands a massive bed with a patchwork quilt over it. Whoa, AC DC be damned! This man knows how to live in the most efficient way….

"Make yerselves at home," says Hagrid, letting go of Fang, who bounds straight at Ron and started licking his ears. Like Hagrid, Fang was clearly not as fierce as he looked.

"This is Ariana and Ron," Harry tells Hagrid, who is pouring boiling water into a large teapot and putting rock cakes onto a plate.

"Another Weasley, eh?" Says Hagrid, glancing at Ron's freckles. "I spent half me life chasin' yer twin brothers away from the forest. Now, what's yer last name?" He juts his head towards me.

"Oh, me? I'm a Weasley too… just not a fellow ginger," I giggle uncomfortably as I scratch the back of my head with my eyes closed.

Good thing Hagrid seems amused.

The rock cakes are shapeless lumps with raisins that almost broke our teeth, but Harry and Ron pretend to be enjoying them as they told Hagrid all about our first lessons. I don't have to pretend, it's DELICIOUS! Fang rests his head on Harry's knee and drools all over his robes. Ha ha!

Me, Ronny Ron, and Harry are delighted to hear Hagrid call Fitch 'that old git'.

"An' as fer that cat, Mrs. Norris, I'd like ter introduce her to Fang sometime. D'yeh know, every time I go up ter the school, she follows me everywhere? Can't get rid of her. Fitch puts her up to it."

Harry tells Hagrid about Snape's lesson. Hagrid, like Ronny Ron, tells Harry not to worry about it, that Snape likes hardly any of the students.

"But he seemed to really hate me."

"Rubbish!" Says Hagrid. "Why should he?"

Well, he keeps pointing out that Harry's famous. People can be resentful for that, but that seems pretty excessive to treat him like that. I'm just as lost as my twinsie and my new friend.

"How's yer brother Charlie?" Hagrid asks Ron and me. "I liked him a lot, great with animals."

I wonder if Hagrid had changed the subject on purpose. While Ronny Ron tells Hagrid all about Charlie's work with dragons, Harry picks up a piece of paper that is lying on the table under the tea cozy. It is a cutting from the Daily Prophet, so I read along and scoot closer to be able to:

_'GRINGOTTS BREAK-IN LATEST_

_Investigations continue into the break-in at Gringotts on 31 July, widely believed to be the work of Dark wizards or witches unknown._

_Gringotts goblins today insisted that nothing had been taken. The vault that was searched had in fact been emptied the same day._

_"But we're not telling you what was in there, so keep your noses out if you know what's good for you," said a Gringotts spokesgoblin this afternoon.'_

Psh, old news! I lean away from Harry and back to a more comfortable position. That was a waste of my time, oh well.

"Hagrid!" Says Harry suddenly startling me. "That Gringotts break-in happened on my birthday! It might've been happening while we were there!"

There is no doubt about it, Hagrid definitely doesn't meet Harry's eyes. He grunts and offers him another rock cake. Harry reads the story again. Instead, I take the rock cake and chomp on it eagerly and cautiously. Yea, all it needs is a little aspic and CHOCOLATE and it shall be perfect! I love mixing different foods together, it's the best ever!

Of course, Ronny Ron and Harry look at me like I'm crazy. Psh, they just wish they could be as creative with food as I am.

As Ronny Ron, Harry, and I head back up to the castle my pockets are the ones with all the rock cakes. They don't want them, so I'll take them! I can't wait to try new recipes. The more interesting and creative the better the food tastes, that's my philosophy on food. I can't wait until I get to talk to more fellow Hogwarts students and eat evens more! Today…, except for potions has been great.

**Author's Note: Well, that was a fun chapter to write. I love it when Harry Potter isn't all dark and depressing, it makes everything more enjoyable. I hope you enjoy, follow, favorite, and review. :—D**


	5. Midnight Duel

**Author's Note:**

**_|Thanking Guest Reviewers|_**

**—•Anonymous: I'm glad you still like it so much. :—) Also, no, that's not what I meant, but it's not a problem because I'll try to explain it this way…. Um, first graders in America are about six years old… give or take. That's about my language proficiency in French. :—) I hope that explains it better to you. :-) Thank you for the review. :—D**

**|Chapter Five— Midnight Duel|**

If you asked me about a month ago if I hated anyone I would have said 'no one' because I've never felt such strong negativity towards someone, but that was before he met Draco Malfoy. Still, first year Gryffindors only have Potions with the Slytherins, so I don't have to put up with Mouth Boy much. Or at least, I didn't until I spotted a notice pinned up in the Gryffindor common room which makes me groan on pure annoyance Flying lessons will be starting on Thursday and Gryffindor and Slytherin will be learning together.

"Typical," says Harry darkly. "Just what I always wanted. To make a fool of myself on a broomstick in front of Malfoy."

I can tell he's been looking forward to flying on a broomstick the most, he's talked about it quite a bit.

"You don't know you'll make a fool of yourself," says Ronny Ron reasonably. "Anyway, I know Malfoy's always going on about how good he is at Quidditch, but I bet that's all talk."

"Please, with the size of his ego it'll probably snap in half before it evens lifts off the ground," I say.

That earns a few chuckles; I would be one of them.

Back to what Ronny Ron said, Mouth Boy certainly does talk about flying a lot. He complains loudly about first-years never getting in the house Quidditch teams and tells long and boastful stories which always seems to end with him narrowly escaping Muggles in helicopters. What a load of bullocks.

He isn't the only one, though: the way Seamus Finnigan tells it, he's spent most of his childhood zooming around the countryside on his broomstick. Even Ronny Ron would tell anyone who'll listen about the time he'd almost hit a hang-glider on Charlie's old broom. Everyone from wizarding families talk about Quidditch constantly; which is _bo-ring~_.

Ronny Ron has already had a big argument with Dean Thomas about football. Ron can't see what is so exciting about a game with only one ball where no one is allowed to fly. Of course, I counter Ronny Ron in defense of Dean and argued what's so fun about chasing a bunch of balls with flying sticks between your legs waiting for a bunch of points on a board that will not matter outside the game. I got glowered at and he's still kind of angry at me. But, he has nothing to say back to me. Point for Ariana while Ronny Ron still has yet to score!

Neville, on the other hand, has never been on a broomstick in his life, because his grandmother has never let him near one. I openly in the most cheery way possible tell she has a good reason because Neville manages to have an extraordinary number of accidents even with both feet on the ground.

I can tell, Hermione Granger is almost as nervous about flying as Neville is. This is something you can't learn by heart out of a book, not that she hasn't tried. At breakfast on Thursday she bores them all with stupid flying tips she's gotten out of a library book called 'Quidditch through the Ages'. Neville is hanging on to her every word, desperate for anything that might help him hang on to his broomstick later, but everybody else is very pleased when Hermione's lecture is interrupted by the arrival of the post.

I haven't had a single letter since my Mum's note, something that Mouth Boy has been quick to notice, of course. Mouth Boy's eagle owl is always bringing him packages of sweets from home, which he opens gloatingly at the Slytherin table. Just you wait, little dragon dung.

A barn owl brings Neville a small package from his grandmother. He opens it excitedly and shows them a glass ball the size of a large marble, which seems to be full of white smoke. Odd.

"It's a Remembrall!" He explains. "Gran knows I forget things, this tells you if there's something you've forgotten to do. Look, you hold it tight like this and if it turns red— oh…," his face falls, because the Remembrall has suddenly glowed scarlet. "… you've forgotten something…."

Neville's obviously trying to remember what he's forgotten when Mouth Boy, who is passing the Gryffindor table, snatches the Remembrall out of his hand. Not cool!

Harry, Ron, and I to our feet. I know the boys are half hoping for a reason to fight Mouth Boy, I'm not one to confront people directly… I've learned a thing or two from Fred and George, but Professor McGonagall— who can spot trouble quicker than any teacher in the school— is there in a flash.

"What's going on?"

"Malfoy's got my Remembrall, Professor."

Scowling, Malfoy quickly drops the Remembrall back on the table.

"Just looking," he says, and he slops away with Crabbe and Goyle behind him.

A smirk graces my lips and an idea comes to mind. It's fantastic actually. Part one of two shall be complete as I look over to Neville.

"Oi, Neville, can I borrow your Rememberall?" I ask kindly. "I promise I'll give it back."

* * *

**|•xXx•|**

* * *

At three-thirty this afternoon, Harry, Ronny Ron, I and the other Gryffindors hurry down the front steps into the grounds for our first flying lesson. It is a clear, breezy day and the grass ripples under our feet as we march down the sloping lawns towards a smooth lawn on the opposite side of the grounds to the forbidden forest, whose trees are swaying darkly in the distance.

The Slytherins are already there, and so are twenty broomsticks lying in neat lines on the ground. I have heard Fred and George Weasley complain about the school brooms, saying that some of them start to vibrate if you flew too high or always flew slightly to the left.

Our teacher, Madam Hooch, arrives. She has short, grey hair and yellow eyes like a hawk. Creepy.

"Well, what are you all waiting for?" She barks. "Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up."

I glance down at my broom wondering if I'm supposed to feel some sort of connection, like when you ride a Hippogriff. Anyway, this broom is old and some of the twigs sticks out at odd angles.

"Stick out your right hand over your broom," calls Madam Hooch at the front. "and say, 'up'."

"UP!" Everyone shouts.

I concentrate, close my eyes, and after a moment the stick snaps in my hand, about half of my classmates do that. Hermione Granger's just simply rolls over on the ground and Neville's hasn't moved at all. Perhaps brooms, like Hippogriffs, could tell when you are afraid… maybe they're not all that different after all; there is a quaver in Neville's voice that says only too clearly that he wants to keep his feet on the ground.

Madam Hooch then shows us how to mount our brooms without sliding off the end, and walk up and down the rows, correcting our grips. I'm pretty delighted when she tells Mouth Boy he has been doing it wrong for years.

"Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard," aus Madam Hooch. "Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet and then come straight back down by leaning forwards slightly. On my whistle: three, two—"

But Neville, nervous and jumpy and frightened of being left on the ground, pushes off hard before the whistle has touched Madam Hooch's lips.

"Come back, boy!" She shouts, but Neville is rising straight up like a cork shot out of a bottle— twelve feet— twenty feet. I can see his scared white face look down at the ground falling away, see him gasp, slip sideways off the broom and— _WHAM_— a thud and a nasty crack and Neville lies, face down, behind me, on the grass in a heap. His broomstick is still rising higher and higher and starts to drift lazily towards the forbidden forest and out of sight. I have to fight to keep the giggles at bay with my hands over my mouth; this is a serious situation after all… and no one else is laughing. I still attract stares though.

Madam Hooch is bending over Neville, her face as white as his.

"Broken wrist," I hear her mutter. "Come on, boy. It's all right, up you get." She turns to the rest of the class. "None of you is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing! You leave those brooms where they are or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say 'Quidditch'. Come on, dear."

Neville, his face tear-streaked, clutching his wrist, hobbles off with Madam Hooch, who has her arm around him. That's when my giggles stop and I don't have to attempt to cover them up with my hands anymore. That look on his face took out all of the humor… I feel bad now.

No sooner were they out of earshot than Malfoy bursts into laughter, "Did you see his face, the great lump?"

The other Slytherins join in on the laughter.

"Shut up, Malfoy," snaps Parvati Patil.

"Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom?" Says Pansy Parkinson, a hard-faced Slytherin girl. "Never thought you'd like fat little cry babies, Parvati."

"Look!" Says Malfoy, darting forward and snatching something out of the grass. "It's that stupid thing Longbottom's gran sent him."

The Remembrall glitters in the sun as he holds it up. A small smirk curls on my lips… soon enough he'll regret being such a little turd.

"Give that here, Malfoy," says Harry quietly.

Everyone stops talking to watch. Mouth Boy smiles nastily. And because of this, I protectively stand a little more in front of Harry.

"I think I'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to collect. How about up a tree?"

"Give it here!" Harry yells, but Malfoy leaps on to his broomstick and takes off.

He hasn't been lying, he can fly well: hovering level with the topmost branches of an oak he calls, "Come and get it, Potter!"

Harry grabs his broom.

"No!" Shouts Hermione Granger. "Madam Hooch told us not to move, you'll get us all into trouble."

I agree with Hermione. I don't want Madam Hooch to knock points off Gryffindor and risk the House Cup. I'd rather rub that in Mouth Boy's smug prick face, than him possibly being caught in my little 'prank'.

"Yeah, Harry, listen to Hermione. It could turn out really bad," I say with pleading eyes and a hand on his forearm.

Harry ignores us both as he yanks free from my hand. I pout at this and try not to take it personally. He mounts the broom and kicks hard against the ground and up, up he soars, air rushes through his hair and his robes whip out. He pulls his broomstick up a little to take it even higher and I can hear screams and gasps from girls on the ground right next to me and an admiring whoop from Ron. I'm still pouting though… he's good, but it's not going to help the issue that's about to go down. He turns his broomstick sharply to face Mouth Boy in mid-air.

"Give it here," Harry calls, "or I'll knock you off that broom!"

"Oh, yeah?" Says Malfoy, trying to sneer, but looking worried.

Three… two… one: _SHABAM_! The Rememberall thunks Mouth Boy in the head right between the eyes. Laughter erupts from most around me and I have to giggle too. I'm clapping my hands together in elation… and I ignore the look Ronny Ron gives me out of the corner of his eye. In the next second, it causes Mouth Boy to fly off his broom and begin plummeting to the Earth. Uh-oh.

Harry knows, somehow, what to do. He leans forward and grasps the broom tightly in both hands and it shoots towards Malfoy like a javelin. Malfoy only just gets out of the way in time; Harry makes a sharp about turn and holds the broom steadily. A few people below are clapping including myself.

It's hard to hear from up hear, but I can somewhat see Harry's lips moving. He's obviously telling Mouth Boy off… his body language gives it away.

"Catch it if you can, then!" Mouth Boy suddenly shouts, and he throws the glass ball high into the air and streaks back towards the ground.

Harry leans forward and points his broom handle down. In the next second he's gathering speed in a steep dive, racing the ball— just about everyone from Gryffindor is cheering for him including me— he stretches out his hand, a foot from the ground he catches it, just in time to pull his broom straight, and he topples gently on to the grass with the Remembrall clutched safely in his fist.

"HARRY POTTER!"

My whooping and cheering ceases when I see Professor McGonagall running towards them. My body sags slightly and a pout forms on my lips…. Oh no.

"Never! In all my time at Hogwarts!" Professor McGonagall is almost speechless with shock, and her glasses flash furiously. "How dare you? You might have broken your neck!"

"It wasn't his fault, Professor—" I begin wishing to defend him.

"Be quiet, Miss Weasely."

"But Malfoy—"

"That's enough, Mr Weasley. Potter, follow me, now."

I catch sight of Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle's triumphant faces as Harry leaves, he's walking numbly in Professor McGonagall's wake as she strides toward the castle. He's going to be expelled, I just know it. I don't want Harry to leave Hogwarts; he's my friend and the only other friend I have here is Ronny Ron.

"What an idiot," Hermione says.

The two of us and other fellow Gryffindors glare at her as the Slytherins continue to laugh.

**.. ..**

**.. ..**

"You're joking," Ronny Ron and I say in unison.

It's dinner time. Harry has just finished telling Ronny Ron what has happened when he'd left the grounds with Professor McGonagall. Ronny Ron has a piece of steak and kidney pie halfway to his mouth, but he's forgotten all about it.

"Seeker?" he says. "But first years never! You must be the youngest house player in about—"

"— a century," says Harry finishing his sentence and shovelling pie into his mouth. "Wood told me."

Ronny Ron is so amazed, so impressed, he just sits and gapes at Harry. It is impressive that Harry has made the team and all, but Quidditch is just not my thing. I cant really get into it.

"I start training next week," says Harry. "Only don't tell anyone, Wood wants to keep it a secret."

Fred and George Weasley now came into the hall, spotted Harry and hurried over.

"Well done," says George in a low voice. "Wood tells us. We're on the team too, Beaters."

"I tell you, we're going to win that Quidditch Cup for sure this year," says Fred. "We haven't won since Charlie left, but this year's team is going to be brilliant. You must be good, Harry, Wood was almost skipping when he told us."

"Anyway, we've got to go, Lee Jordan reckons he's found a new secret passageway out of the school."

"Bet it's that one behind the statue of Gregory the Smarmy that we found in our first week. See you."

Fred and George had hardly disappeared when someone far less welcome turns up: Mouth Boy, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle.

"Having a last meal, Potter? When are you getting on the train back to the Muggles?"

"You're a lot braver now you're back on the ground and you've got your little friends with you," says Harry coolly. There is of course nothing at all little about Crabbe and Goyle, but as the high table is full of teachers, neither of them can do more than crack their knuckles and scowl.

"I'd take you on any time on my own," says Mouth Boy. "Tonight, if you want. Wizard's duel. Wands only, no contact. What's the matter? Never heard of a wizard's duel before, I suppose?"

"Of course he has," I tell him whirling around with a slight scowl. "I'm his second, who's yours? You're going to need it… that whelp on your forehead and all."

Malfoy looks at Crabbe and Goyle, sizing them up.

"Crabbe," he says. "Midnight all right? We'll meet you in the trophy room, that's always unlocked."

When Mouth Boy leaves, Ronny Ron, Harry, and I look at each other. I shrug playfully and smile slightly. I don't want that stupid Malfoy to effect us more than he already does.

"What is a wizard's duel?" Says Harry. "And what do you mean, you're my second?"

"Well, a second's there to take over if you die," says Ronny Ron casually, getting started at last on his cold pie. Catching the look on Harry's face, he added quickly, "But, people only die in proper duels, you know, with real wizards. The most you and Malfoy'll be able to do is send sparks at each other. Neither of you knows enough magic to do any real damage. I bet he expected you to refuse, anyway. By the way, Ariana, _I_ am his second."

"Naw-ah, I called it," I tell him whilst sticking my tongue out at him.

"No, I am. I'm the guy, so I get to fight," he says.

"You sure about that?" I say flicking his pastel colored shirt underneath his robes. "With that shirt, you could pull off as being a girl."

"Ariana!"

I can tell Harry has gotten fed up with our squabbling. He doesn't have a twin, he doesn't really get the frustration. I mean, I love Ronny Ron, but sometimes he can be a bit of an annoying jerk.

"Guys, stop it! What if I wave my wand and nothing happens?" Harry says looking frustrated.

Ronny Ron huffs and turns away from me, "Throw it away and punch him on the nose."

"Excuse me."

All of us look up; it is Hermione Granger. How annoying.

"Can't a person eat in peace in this place?" Says Ronny Ron.

Hermione ignores him and speaks to Harry.

"I couldn't help overhearing what you and Malfoy were saying—"

"Bet you could," Ronny Ron mutters.

I place a hand over my mouth and giggle softly to myself. It may be mean, but I'm trying to cover it up.

"— and you mustn't go wandering around the school at night, think of the points you'll lose Gryffindor if you're caught, and you're bound to be. It's really very selfish of you."

"And it's really none of your business," Says Harry.

"Goodbye," Says Ronny Ron.

"Sorry, Hermione," I say softly and kindly.

* * *

**|•xXx•|**

* * *

All the same, it isn't what anyone would call the perfect end to the day. I am laying awake much later listening to Parvati and Padma Patil falling asleep (Hermione isn't upstairs yet to yell at us about telling funny stories and giggling). I have spent all evening giving Harry advice such as 'if he tries to curse you, you'd better dodge it, because we haven't learned how to block them'. There is a very good chance all of us are going to get caught by Filch or Mrs Norris, and I can feel this thrill when it comes to breaking another school rule twice today. I can imagine Mouth Boy's smug prick face when Harry zaps him right in the face. I look at my wrist watch and see that it's half past eleven.

I pull on my blue jeans and a clean t-shirt, pick up my wand and creep across the tower room, down the spiral staircase and into the Gryffindor Common Room. A few embers are still glowing in the fireplace, turning all the armchairs into hunched black shadows. I almost reach the portrait hole when a voice speaks from the chair nearest them: 'I can't believe you're going to do this too, Ariana'.

A lamp flickers on. It is Hermione Granger, wearing a pink dressing-gown and a frown. I sigh in annoyance….

"You!" Says Ronny furiously from behind me. "Go back to bed!"

"I almost told your brother," Hermione snaps. "Percy, he's a Prefect, he'd put a stop to this."

I can't believe anyone could be so interfering, except Mum. That's kind of disturbing that she reminds me a lot of Mum….

"Come on," Harry says to Ronny Ron and I.

He pushes open the portrait of the Fat Lady and climbs through the hole. Hermione isn't going to give up that easily since she follows me through the portrait hole, hissing at us like an angry goose.

"Don't you care about Gryffindor, do you only care about yourselves, I don't want Slytherin to win the House Cup and you'll lose all the points I got from Professor McGonagall for knowing about switching spells."

"Go away."

"All right, but I warned you, you just remember what I said when you're on the train home tomorrow, you're so—"

But where we are, we don't get to find out. Hermione turns to the portrait of the Fat Lady to get back inside and finds herself facing an empty painting. The Fat Lady has gone on a night-time visit and Hermione is locked out of Gryffindor Tower.

"Now what am I going to do?" she asks shrilly.

"That's your problem," says Ronny Ron. "We've got to go, we're going to be late."

We haven't even reached the end of the corridor when Hermione catches up with the three of us.

"I'm coming with you," she says.

"You are not."

"D'you think I'm going to stand out here and wait for Filch to catch me? If he finds all three of us I'll tell him the truth, that I was trying to stop you and you can back me up."

"You've got some nerve—" says Ronny Ron loudly.

"Shut up, both of you!" Says Harry sharply. "I heard something."

It's a sort of snuffling.

"Mrs Norris?" I breathe, squinting through the dark.

It isn't Mrs Norris. It's Neville. He is curled up on the floor, fast asleep, but jerked suddenly awake as we creep nearer.

"Thank goodness you found me! I've been out here for hours. I couldn't remember the new password to get in to bed."

"Keep your voice down, Neville. The password's 'Pig snout', but it won't help you now, the Fat Lady's gone off somewhere."

"How's your arm?" Asks Harry.

"Fine," says Neville, showing us. "Madam Pomfrey mended it in about a minute."

"Good. Well, look, Neville, we've got to be somewhere, we'll see you later—" I begin.

"Don't leave me!" Says Neville, scrambling to his feet. "I don't want to stay here alone, the Bloody Baron's been past twice already."

Ron looka at his watch and then glares furiously at Hermione and Neville. Sheesh.

"If either of you get us caught, I'll never rest until I've learnt that Curse of the Bogies Quirrell told us about and use it on you," Hermione opens her mouth, perhaps to tell Ronny Ron exactly how to use the Curse of the Bogies, but Harry hisses at her to be quiet and beckons all of us forward.

We flit along corridors striped with bars of moonlight from the high windows. At every turn I expect to run into Filch or Mrs. Norris, but we are lucky. We speed up a staircase to the third floor and tiptoe towards the trophy room. Mouth Boy and Crabbe aren't here yet. The crystal trophy cases glimmer where the moonlight catches them. Cups, shields, plates and statues wink silver and gold in the darkness. We edge along the walls, keeping our eyes on the doors at either end of the room. I take out my wand in case Mouth Boy leaps in and wands blazing at once. The minutes creep by. A feeling of dread doubt sweeps through me.

"He's late, maybe he's chickened out," Ronny Ron whispers.

Then a noise in the next room makes them jump. Harry only just raises his wand when they hear someone speak and it isn't Mouth Boy.

"Sniff around, my sweet, they might be lurking in a corner."

It's Filch speaking to Mrs Norris. Horror-struck, I watch Harry wave madly at the four of us to follow him as quickly as possible; we scurry silently towards the door away from Filch's voice. My robes barely whip around the corner when we hear Filch enter the trophy room.

"They're in here somewhere," we hear him mutter, "probably hiding."

'This way!' Harry mouths to us and, petrified, we begin to creep down a long gallery full of suits of armor. We could hear Filch getting nearer. Neville suddenly lets out a frightened squeak and breaks into a run, he trips, grabs Ronny Ron around the waist and the pair of them topple right into a suit of armor. The clanging and crashing are enough to wake the whole castle.

"RUN!" I squeal/shriek and the five of us sprint down the gallery, not looking back to see whether Filch is following; we swing around the doorpost and gallop down one corridor then another, I'm in the lead without any idea where we are or where we are going. We rip through a tapestry and find ourselves in a hidden passageway, hurtling along it and come out near the Charms classroom, which we know is miles from the trophy room.

"I think we've lost him," Harry pants, leaning against the cold wall and wiping his forehead.

Neville is bent double, wheezing and spluttering.

"I… told… you," Hermione gasps, clutching at the stitch in her chest. "I… told… you."

"We've got to get back to Gryffindor Tower," says Ronny Ron, "quickly as possible."

"Malfoy tricked you," Hermione says to Harry. "You realise that, don't you? He was never going to meet you. Filch knew someone was going to be in the trophy room, Malfoy must have tipped him off."

The little know it all is probably right, but I'm not telling her that.

"Let's go."

It isn't going to be that simple. We haven't gone more than a dozen paces when a doorknob rattles and something comes shooting out of a classroom in front of us. It is Peeves. He catches sight of us and gives a squeal of delight.

"Shut up, Peeves, please, you'll get us thrown out."

Peeves cackles.

"Wandering around at midnight, ickle firsties? Tut, tut, tut. Naughty, naughty, you'll get caughty."

"Not if you don't give us away, Peeves, please," I beg, placing my hands together right underneath my chin and I give him my quivering, watery and large brown puppy dog eyes.

"Should tell Filch, I should," says Peeves in a saintly voice, but his eyes glitter wickedly. "It's for your own good, you know."

"Get out of the way," Snaps Ronny Ron, taking a swipe at Peeves this is a big mistake.

"STUDENTS OUT OF BED!" Peeves bellows. "STUDENTS OUT OF BED DOWN THE CHARMS CORRIDOR!"

Ducking under Peeves we run for our lives, right to the end of the corridor, where we slam into a door and it is locked.

"This is it!" Ronny Ron moans, as we push helplessly at the door. "We're done for! This is the end!"

We can hear footsteps, Filch running as fast as he can towards Peeves' shouts.

"Oh, move over," Hermione snarls. She grabbed Harry's wand, taps the lock and whispers, "Alohomora!"

The lock clicks and the door swings open, we pile through it, shut it quickly and press our ears against it, listening.

"Which way did they go, Peeves?" Filch is saying. "Quick, tell me."

"Say 'please'."

"Don't mess me about, Peeves, now where did they go?"

"Shan't say nothing if you don't say please," says Peeves in his annoying sing-song voice.

"All right – please."

"NOTHING! Ha haaa! Told you I wouldn't say nothing if you didn't say please! Ha ha! Haaaaaa!"

And we hear the sound of Peeves whooshing away and Filch cursing in rage.

"He thinks this door is locked," Harry whispers. "I think we'll be OK. Get off, Neville!" For Neville has been tugging on the sleeve of Harry's dressing-gown for the last minute. "What?"

I turn around and see, quite clearly, what. For a moment, I was sure I'd walked into a nightmare; this is too much, on top of everything that had happened so far.

We aren't in a room, as I had supposed. We are in a corridor. The forbidden corridor on the third floor. And now we know why it is forbidden. We are looking straight into the eyes of a monstrous dog, a dog which fills the whole space between ceiling and floor. It has three heads, three pairs of rolling, mad eyes; three noses, twitching and quivering in their direction; three drooling mouths, saliva hanging in slippery ropes from yellowish fangs.

It is standing quite still, all six eyes staring at us, and I know that the only reason we aren't already dead is that our sudden appearance has taken it by surprise, but it is quickly getting over that, there's no mistaking what those thunderous growls meant.

I grope for the doorknob, between Filch and death, I'd take Filch. We fall backwards. Harry slams the door shut, and we run, we almost fly, back down the corridor. Filch must have hurried off to look for us somewhere else because we don't see him anywhere, but we hardly care. All we want to do is put as much space as possible between us and that monster. We don't stop running until we reach the portrait of the Fat Lady on the seventh floor.

"Where on earth have you all been?" She asks, looking at our dressing-gowns hanging off their shoulders and our flushed, sweaty faces.

"Never mind that. Pig snout, pig snout," pants Harry, and the portrait swings forward.

We scramble into the common room and collapse, trembling into armchairs. It is a while before any of us say anything. Neville, indeed, looks as if he'd never speak again.

"What do they think they're doing, keeping a thing like that locked up in a school?" Says Ronny Ron finally. "If any dog needs exercise, that one does."

Hermione has got both her breath and her bad temper back again.

"You don't use your eyes, any of you, do you?" She snaps. "Didn't you see what it was standing on?"

"The floor?" Harry suggests. "I wasn't looking at its feet, I was too busy with its heads."

"No, not the floor. It was standing on a trapdoor. It's obviously guarding something."

She stands up, glaring at us.

"I hope you're pleased with yourselves. We could all have been killed… or worse, expelled. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to bed."

Ronny Ron stares after her, his mouth open.

"No, we don't mind," he says. "You'd think we dragged her along, wouldn't you?"

This is why she doesn't have any friends, from what I can tell. She's rude, mean, snappy, bossy, annoying, a know it all, and a bit of a show off. I rarely see a positive side to her, she's like an insane mother, my mother. Not to say Mum is crazy, but she does have some yelling issues….

**Author's Note: I sincerely hope all of you enjoy, follow, favorite, and review this fic. :—D**


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